The Twisting of Tales
by Gimli and Legolas
Summary: Sometimes, stories told by word of mouth can become distorted in the telling...
1. I do like that saddlecloth

_A new story!_ _*Legolas and Gimli cheerfully ignore all groans of 'oh, not another one!'* Alright, we figured that stories tend to get a little mangled the more they're told, and little facts are altered, so, when we were sitting in line at the movie marathon, we came up with several different versions of the meeting of the Three Hunters and Éomer. We tried to use the book text, but it goes on just a little too much, and we feel better about parodying Peter Jackson than Tolkien. *Legolas and Gimli bow to Tolkien*_

The Twisting of Tales 

It was a very wet, very windy, very not-so-nice day in Gondor, so Aragorn, Éomer, Legolas and Gimli were confined to the indoors. They had barricaded themselves in Aragorn's study, since Arwen had taken the time to start spring-cleaning. No matter how much Aragorn tried to point out to her that 'spring-cleaning' could hardly be done in October, she still persisted. 

"Remember that day we first met?" Aragorn asked lazily, his long legs draped over the arm of a comfortable chair.

"The day that ruined my life, you mean?" Éomer's mood matched the weather. The Horse-Lord was occupying the entire sofa, and Legolas had chosen the other armchair for himself. Gimli had been reduced to the floor, something that did not please him very much.

"Now, Éomer, that's not very nice," Legolas chided. "We're not _that _bad. As I recall, we've been getting you out of scrapes from day one…"

The Three Hunters paused at the top of the hill. A shrill whinny was carried towards them on the wind, and, as though by unanimous agreement, they ducked behind a large outcrop of rocks. Crouching down, trying desperately not to make a sound that might give them away, and wondering what they could possibly have done to offend the Valar so much, they listened to the approaching thunder of many hoof beats.

A singular horse shot past, as swift as an arrow loosed from a bow. Aragorn blinked in puzzlement; Gimli looked immensely confused; Legolas arched an eyebrow. A few seconds later, just as they had dared to breathe again, a positive stampede of horses swept past. Aragorn blinked again, several times. Gimli let out an involuntary yelp. Legolas looked entirely unfazed; evidently he had heard them approaching behind the first horse.  

Aragorn, who had evidently decided that now was the opportune moment for suicidal heroism, leapt out from their hiding place. "Riders of Rohan!" he bellowed. "What news from the Mark?" As one, the Riders galloped back round, and began to circle the Three Hunters, hemming in around them. As they halted, innumerable spears were pointed in their direction. There was a long silence. Finally, a timid voice from the back of the crowd of horses broke out.

"Um… where is Lord Éomer?" 

There was a very awkward pause. Gimli and Legolas exchanged glances. Aragorn was trying in vain to look as though he were in control of the situation. As the group of Riders began to fidget uncomfortably, there was the sound of an approaching horse. The problem was that the horse was approaching incredibly fast. A voice was vaguely heard on the edge of mortal hearing. It got louder as the horse came closer, was heard as a shout as it swept past, and drifted off into silence as it galloped away again.

"What business does an Elf, a Man and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark…?" 

"Er…" Aragorn was grasping at straws. "Who was that?"

"That is our Lord Éomer!" exclaimed the Rider nearest to them. "He is the greatest Rider in Middle-earth!"

Gimli suddenly came over with a coughing fit. Aragorn nodded, trying to look impressed. Legolas stroked his chin. "Indeed?"

"Where is he?" Aragorn hissed in Legolas' ear. Legolas looked revolted, but tried to pick out the lone Rider without seeming too conspicuous. He eventually gave up on this, however, as he had to stand on tiptoe to peer over the heads of the Riders. 

"He's just disappearing over the next hill," he said. "Oh, no… wait, wait... He's coming back..." 

"I think we'd better do something you know," muttered Gimli, who kept casting uneasy glances at the impatient horses surrounding them. "I mean, we don't want him to get hurt or anything… well, not that much anyway." 

Legolas nodded, and craned his neck to see how close Éomer was. He decided that 'we' in this case almost certainly meant him. He turned to the Rider who appeared to be in charge whilst their lord was… occupied. "Excuse me, er, I'm sorry to be such a bother, but could I, er, please get through?" The bearded man (who looked suspiciously feminine under the facial hair) glared at him. Legolas decided that the powers of Elven speech were not going to help him here, so he gave the man a beaming smile. Grudgingly, the man shifted his horse slightly, so there was a small gap. Legolas stared at it. Realising that was the best he was going to get; the Elf thanked him and began to squeeze his way through. He had to turn sideways and breathe-in in order to manage it (which gives some idea of how narrow the gap was). 

"Did you condition this horse's tail?"

"I'm sorry, but could I ask how you keep grey legs _so _clean?"

"I _do _like that saddle-cloth: where could I get one?"

Eventually, after receiving no answer to any of his questions, Legolas emerged. He was feeling distinctly put-out; how dare they be so rude? However, now was no time to dwell on this new hardship; the Horse Lord was pelting towards him at full gallop, and his horse looked a lot larger than it had on the horizon. 

The unforgiving hooves pounded the earth, kicking up clouds of dust. The nostrils were flared wide and red, snorting and blowing. The large eyes were rolling back, their whites glowing eerily in the mare's dark, sweat-streaked face. Her shoulders and flanks glistened; white streamers of foam flew from her mouth. Her black tail bannered out behind her, and it was obvious by the power of her haunches driving her forward that she was not going to stop. 

Legolas caught a glimpse of Éomer's face; he was deathly pale, his mouth opened wide in a silent scream of horror. As he caught sight of the Elf standing in front of his rampaging steed he eyes bulged in terror. "MOVE!" he managed to scream, clinging even more desperately to his horse's mane. 

As calm as though he were dealing with a rambunctious toddler, Legolas held up both hands towards the beast. "Whoa," he said. The mare immediately went from full gallop to a screeching halt, all four legs planted squarely. Her abrupt change of pace had gouged out two huge tracks from the earth, and thrown her rider forwards onto her neck. As his horse stood, steaming and blowing, Éomer gently slipped sideways, until he was hanging upside down, his feet hooked over his horse's withers, still grasping her mane as though his life depended on it. His head lolled back, and his eyes met Legolas'. 

"Hello," Legolas said cheerfully. He held out a hand in greeting. "I'm Legolas, and I'm very pleased to meet you."

The Horse Lord stared at the Elf's long, slim hand for a moment, then very gently he slipped from where he was hanging and fell with a soft _flump _to the dusty ground. 

***

Gimli: I'm the main reason for not doing the book- apart from feeling it was a discredit to Tolkien, I am very offended by being mistaken for an Elf. I mean, really! Anyway, we really enjoyed writing this chapter (though I enjoy any excuse to use too many adjectives), so we want you to REVIEW.

_Legolas: Firefoot is very similar to one of my old ponies- she was very fast and very strong, and I had great fun trying to stop. Putting Éomer on a horse he couldn't control was just an opportunity too good to pass up. _


	2. Heh spears

So, here we are again. It's raining outside. However, tramping up and down a hill on horses that are not our own and are far too big for us is great stimulus for story writing ideas. Who knew?

Disclaimer: As before. And this time some of the script belongs to Dreamworks for the magnificent film _The Road to El Dorado._

The Twisting of Tales- Chapter Two 

"What a load of sh-" _smack_.

"Éomer, no swearing in Minas Tirith!"

"You swear all the time!"

"I'm the King. I'm allowed."

"And you say we argue constantly." Gimli and Legolas exchanged looks. Then they glared at each other.

"I WAS GOING TO SAY THAT!" they exclaimed. At the same time.

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

Both promptly folded their arms and scowled in opposite directions.

"_Anyway," _Éomer said, staring pointedly at his companions, "I was going to say that it happened in a totally different way…"

This was one of those times when Éomer could forget all his worries and troubles, and just enjoy the thrill of galloping across the expanse of land stretching out before him. He could barely remember why he had gotten so angry with Wormtongue and thus sealed his banishment from Edoras, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the here and now.

The hooves of his beloved Firefoot pounded tirelessly against the dusty ground as he led his men over the hill. All he could hear was the wind whistling past him, stirring his hair and whipping against the crest of his helmet, along with the snorts of the horses and the thunder of their hooves.

And something else.

"Riders of Rohan! What news from the Mark!" The strange voice drifting seemingly from the ground, and Éomer risked a quick glance behind him to see whether this assumption was true. He then wished it was. Standing on top of the hill as though he owned it was a tall, scruffily clad man that he could smell from where he was. He raised his spear, signalling to his Riders to turn left.

With military precision, the Riders galloped towards the man and his two strange companions and circled around them, hemming them in together. At exactly the right moment, they made a path for Éomer to trot through and confront the trespassers.

The tall, Elvish looking creature looked slightly worried. "Sorry!" he exclaimed, a quiver in his voice. "Sorry, is this your field? Sorry, we were just looking!"

The short creature Éomer had to assume was a Dwarf spoke up: "We're tourists! Tour-ists. We, er, we lost our group! May we… go now?"

Both of them smiled convincingly up at him. Éomer nodded almost imperceptibly at the men, and they raised their weapons.

"Heh… spears." The Dwarf commented weakly.

"Oh shut up, you two." The smelly man broke in.

Legolas: Well, that was rather cool. Making the Riders out to be wonderful isn't as hard as it is to make Aragorn out to be wonderful. But it's still hard.

Gimli: Whee! Another excuse for adjective overload! Legolas' trousers just broke. A bit of insider knowledge for you there.


End file.
